Last Sunday I did something that even two years ago I never would have considered doing. I went … wait for it … TANNING. Yes ladies and gentlemen, repeal my man card because I just violated a gender norm. Go ahead and take it, I don’t care about gendered stereotypes anyway. For a man, being a male is a superficial societal expectation that, frankly, I don’t think we should be required to adhere to.
Reluctant to even travel to the fine tanning establishment my girlfriend recommended, I managed to suppress my inner-masculinity, put one foot in front of the other, and marched right in. After waiting behind a pack of full of orange teeny-boppers and one middle-aged man, I timidly requested the “Around the World” package designed for folks like me to build a nice base tan so as to prevent becoming a lobster at my exotic spring break destination. Side note: who knew that you had to get your fingerprint scanned before being allowed to tan? I felt like I was being initiated for a free-masons society.
After about five minutes of interrogation to accept me into the system I was escorted to bed number eight where I prepared myself for bronzing. The employee reminded me to shut the bed, apparently lots of guys forget that … I certainly would have. I climbed in, cranked up my iPod and mellowed out to the cool island sounds of Jimmy Buffett and Bob Marley.
Eight minutes breezed by as I fell into a sedated state. As I arose from the bed like Darth Vader in the Empire Strikes Back I embarrassingly strolled out of the salon. On the drive home I came to the realization that I had no reason to feel embarrassed. I actually found the harmful UV rays and the entire activity quite soothing. Although I still don’t think there’s any comparison to the healing power of natural sunlight, I am happy to be stepping out of my gendered box.
Of course there is always some level of vanity that is associated with tanning and you can definitely over-do it. My “fake-baked” twin brother has at times resembled a potato that was left in the oven for too long. But for the purpose of not ruining your expensive vacation by baking to a crisp in your first exposure to fiery southern rays, I highly recommend it. And you know what boys? Don’t feel ashamed. As much as we like to raz those who do, I know the number of closet male tanners is higher than we think.
So for the rest of the thousand people that are heading down to Panama City Beach for spring break, take my advice or suffer the wrath of Apollo while the smart travelers sip Mai Tai’s and Pacifico’s en la playa. If not, refrain from pestering the intelligent bunch of us who do. Hit the bed gentleman, you’ll be glad you did.
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